


A Treatise on Carriages

by winteringinrome



Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Carriage Sex, During Canon, Episode Related, Exhibitionism, F/F, Lesbian Sex, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Watching, pure unadulterated smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 21:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21125498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winteringinrome/pseuds/winteringinrome
Summary: They discover Ann likes Anne in her drawers in York. Or rather outside of York, on their way to York, approximately five miles and half an hour into their journey to York. They discover it when Anne is sat across from her, her skirt to her waist, her legs apart, quite wanton. It happens like this…Anne and Ann get up to mischief on the carriage ride to York in S01 E04. Inspired by the fact that the Ann(e)s did totally bone in the carriage. Some artistic licence has been taken with geography and distances to ensure there was enough time for porn to happen. All my 1800s underclothing knowledge comes fromthis very useful postby ellie-valsin on Tumblr, which told me that 1) most people didn’t wear drawers back then and 2) if they did, they were crotchless.





	A Treatise on Carriages

They discover Ann likes Anne in her drawers in York. Or rather outside of York, on their way to York, approximately five miles and half an hour into their journey to York. They discover it when Anne is sat across from Ann, her skirt to her waist, her legs apart, quite wanton. It happens like this…

They have taken Ann’s carriage (the Lister chaise being rather older and smaller) and Ann’s groom (George Playforth being dead) so they are travelling quite in style and comfort towards Dr. Belcombe at Clifton. They are on the quiet stretch of road before Leeds and it is past sundown for they did not depart Crow Nest until a quarter past six. 

Ann is talking excitably about their plans in York. Anne has secured them a room in a boarding house close to York Minster and Ann is looking forward to waking to the sound of bells. Anne has rested her arm above the seat behind her and, as she looks upon Ann’s profile, has begun thinking that there shall be no sleep to wake from if she has her way. 

“Oh and can we visit Fossgate? Catherine has recommended a bookshop. And then perhaps a walk by the river? And then would it not be nice to – ”

“I should like that,” Anne says with half a mind to her, leaning now to check through the window of the carriage. The road in front of them is lit only by the bobbing glow of the groom’s lantern and she can see no lights from towns or villages up ahead. When she is satisfied that they are quite private, she moves over to Ann’s side of the bench and swiftly lifts Ann onto her knee so that she stops mid-sentence with a little “Oh!” 

Before she has a chance to protest, Anne has positioned her so that her back rests against the side of the carriage and, cradling her head with her hand so that it does not jolt too sharply against the window, Anne presses against her for a kiss. Ann is hesitant at first, taken by surprise and conscious too, Anne imagines, of her groom a few feet ahead of them, but Anne make her kisses very slow and warm and, by and by, Ann melts. 

When she is quite pliant in Anne’s arms, Anne kisses her way down Ann’s throat and to her collarbone. Her dress cuts wide to her shoulders, so that Anne is able to continue her path until her lips meet the swell of Ann’s breast. There Anne grow more amorous, her mouth wet and pressing. Above her, Ann gives her little sighs and moans until Anne wants nothing more than to undress her completely, right here, and hold her naked, striving form against her own clothed one as the darkened world glides past the carriage window.

But Ann is new to these ways still and Anne thinks that would shock her. So instead she contents herself by running her hand up the sides of Ann’s slender frame, pressing and pushing at her breasts under her dress and the hard lines of her corset. She runs her thumb along the edge of Ann’s neckline, dipping just under the cloth and then going slowly back and forth, up and down, over the creamy skin where her chest rises into plumpness.

Ann moans and arches in such a way to her touch that Anne begins to think to herself, perhaps she may take this a little further after all. She tugs at the sleeves of Ann’s dress until her shoulders are bare and the top of her corset exposed. The stays are laced at the back, but, still, with a little effort, Anne is able to loosen them somewhat and push the rigid fabric down far enough that Ann’s breasts are exposed. Her hands fly up at once to cover herself and she blushes prettily.

“Is this wise, Anne?” she says, and glances to the window. “What if we are overlooked?”

Anne’s desires turn her persuasive, “We are still twelve miles out from Leeds. There is no one to overlook us. And besides,” Anne say with feeling, “I must look upon you. Please, Ann, I can’t stand to stop now.”

She tugs at Ann’s hands gently, kissing her knuckles, her palm, her wrist until she relents. 

Her breasts are small but pert and they are pushed up a little from the bind of her corset beneath them. Anne cannot help but be excited by the sight. 

She rubs her fingers across Ann’s flesh, plucking and pulling gently until she is bought to hardness, her skin turning rosy under Anne’s attentions. Being raised on Anne’s lap, her chest is the exact height of Anne’s mouth and perfectly positioned for Anne to put her lips to it. She kisses the skin there first, knowing that Ann will bear that, then softly, slowly, as though it is half a mistake in the dark, she takes the tip of her into her mouth, first one side then the other. Ann shivers but does not pull away. Emboldened, Anne runs her tongue over the peaked flesh, feeling it harden further beneath her, then her teeth and then, overcome with desire, presses her face to the warm skin and sucks and licks and nuzzles, until Ann’s chest is flushed and marked with kisses. 

All the while, through the haze of lust, Anne is doing her best to run arithmetic in her head. They passed from the Godley Road, she remembers, shortly after half past and the journey to York is the best of five hours and then to Leeds, where they will change their horses, a half of that. From the colour of the sky, Anne imagines the hour has nearly struck seven, which means near a full hour until they make the turning at Holbeck. So she has a little time she thinks, and certainly the inclination, to take things further still. 

With one hand, which she has laid very casually in Ann’s lap, Anne begins to bear down, so that Ann might start to feel a little pressure there. She keeps up her kisses at Ann’s neck and breast, and presses down with the heel of that palm, starting soon enough a little grinding rhythm, until Ann is shifting and sighing on Anne’s knee. If Anne lessens the pressure, she feels Ann’s hips tilt up to try and regain it. It makes her smile against Ann’s skin. Miss Walker is not quite the quiet creature she pretends to be. She can become quite passionate and eager if given the right encouragement. 

Once Ann’s sighs turn to moans, Anne removes her hand from her lap entirely and trails it along Ann’s thigh to her knee, then down along her calf until finally she can take a hold of the hem of Ann’s skirts. With slowness, as much slowness as she can muster, Anne slips her hand beneath the edge of Ann’s petticoat and strokes her way up Ann’s leg to the point where her stocking ends. She is wearing nothing beneath her skirts so, past the stocking, Anne’s fingers alight on bare thigh. The skin there is very soft and, as Anne brushes her fingertips across Ann’s knee to her inner leg, she feels the muscles flutter under her touch. 

Ann’s legs are pressed close together, though whether from proprietary or her position on Anne’s knee, Anne cannot be sure. She has borne such attentions before, but only twice and both in the comfort of Crow Nest. Anne resolves herself once more to be very gentle and kind with her.

She makes her touches light, working her way slowly up Ann’s thighs, along the join where her legs are pressed together. By the time she reaches the top, Ann is trembling. Anne touches the soft hair there, her fingers feather-light. After a little gentle persuasion, Ann shifts to allow Anne to slide her hand between her legs, her breath hitching in her throat. In the warm, damp closeness between Ann’s thighs, with her palm flush against the damp curls, Anne traces the wet cleave of Ann’s queer. The flesh yields beneath her touch. She is like satin there.

Anne fingers slip down until she reaches the point where Ann’s flesh opens. She rests her fingertip there, her fervour raised very high.

“May I?” she whispers, though she scarce knows how she shall bear it if Ann says no. But Ann does not refuse, only gives the barest nod and tips her head back to rest on the window behind her.

With her gaze kept firmly on Ann’s tilted face, Anne positions her middle finger and presses slowly into her. She watches closely for Ann’s reaction, but the woman on her knee only gasps a little and bites her lip. She feels very tight about Anne’s fingers, though she is wet enough. In case she is still tender, Anne makes her movements very slow and whispers against her throat, “Good, Ann, good.”

The words seem to make Ann warmer, damper, Anne’s finger sliding within her more easily still. She risks a second, nudging her first finger in alongside her middle. Again Ann gasps and stiffens, but once Anne has petted and flattered her, telling her that she is very good and sweet and that, in allowing Anne this, she pleases her greatly, Ann relaxes once more. And, indeed, she does please Anne greatly. For all that Anne thought herself quite cool and calculated in her seductions, she finds herself growing almost intolerably heated and excited by the feel of Ann about her fingers and the sight of her, shifting and straining, her eyes shut, her mouth open, her clothes pushed to one side.

Anne can hear her own breathing, very loud and rapid in her ears, and she can feel her drawers growing damp. The speed of her hand is picking up too, her desire making her forget to be gentle, pressing up again and again inside of Ann.

The jolting of the carriage only aids her movements, driving the hand that is buried in Ann in such a way that her gasps become high-pitched and frantic. By and by Anne notices that Ann is bearing down on her too, shifting her hips to meet the thrusts so as to bring Anne deeper. The knowledge excites Anne further and she finds she is almost panting with her desire and exertions, her mouth pressed first to Ann’s throat, then breast, then torn away so she can look upon Ann’s face. 

Ann’s lip is wet and her eyes closed, the colour on her cheeks high. Anne can feel her trembling in her lap and fancies that she has brought her close already.

Under the layers of skirts and petticoat, Ann’s legs have fallen open. Anne moves her hand to wet her thumb from the slickness on her fingers, and then takes up a gentle rubbing at the top of Ann’s queer. At once, she gives such a cry at that that Anne must put her other hand to her mouth to quieten her, lest the groom hears and stops to check within. She feels Ann's mouth, damp against her palm, and her other lips, against Anne's other hand, wet too and swollen.

The circling of Anne's thumb against her flesh seems to be the undoing of Ann. She strives and bends against her touch and, around her fingers, Anne feels her begin to flutter and clench. Anne tries to keep her movements steady, though she should like nothing more than to pick up pace again, drive up into the centre of Ann, surround herself in her, make her cry out and clutch at Anne. 

But, but her resolve to be tender, at least this time. So slowly, steadily, maddeningly, Anne slides her fingers in and out, in and out, her thumb nudging and rubbing against the point at the top of Ann's queer each time her hand is buried to the hilt. And it seems Anne is to be rewarded for this because all at once Ann is pulled tight in her lap, her head thrown back. Against her palm, Anne feels her mouth shape, silent but plain, oh oh oh. And then she is shaking and gasping, and, around her fingers, she quivers and gushes and wets Anne quite to her wrist. 

Anne feels herself half-overcome just by the sight of it and murmurs nonsense against her, “Such a good girl. My girl. My sweet Ann,” rocking her through her pleasures.

Finally Ann stills, spent, loose-limbed in Anne’s lap. Anne presses a kiss against her shoulder. Then with chivalry, with reluctance, she helps rearrange Ann's stays and dress, makes her presentable and sets her back on the bench so they are side by side once more. 

Anne checks the face of her pocket watch by the moonlight now filtering in through the window and sees they have not passed but five and twenty minutes – Ann being, Anne supposes, still new to such embraces and certainly quickly taken by them. Anne had come close herself, just from watching and from Ann’s bouncing upon her lap. She thinks – might I wait until York and then take my own pleasures in comfort? But they have near four hours to pass till then and Anne doesn’t think she would be able to stand it.

She makes her resolve and turns to smile at Ann, “Did you enjoy that?”

Ann nods, “It seems to get sweeter each time, though I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

“Watching you was sweet too,” Anne says carefully. “And I am now quite stirred and hardly know what to do with myself.”

Ann looks at her uncertainly. “Do you need –?” she says and stops, blushing.

Anne dips her head modestly, “I may need to take my pleasures too.” 

Ann hesitates and Anne feels at once apprehensive that she might object, or not think it proper. Anne has always given her full attention to the other woman in their lovemaking and been quite selfless on her own account, and she fancies Ann has never thought on it before, but –

“I should like that,” Ann says shyly, “but I am not sure –” she bites her lip, “I should not know how to do it properly.”

Anne feels a flash of heat at her words, but, tempting though the thought of Ann putting her hands to Anne is, Anne is doubtful they have the time, and, regardless, Anne had something else in mind. 

She takes one final glance to the window and, finding the horizon still dark, moves to sit herself on the carriage bench opposite Ann. She leans forward, her forearms resting on her thighs, and looks up until Ann will meet her gaze.

Anne tries her best to propose her intentions delicately. “Ladies may... see to themselves,” she says and bites her lip, “have you never tried it?”

Ann shakes her head, “I've never heard of such a thing.”

“It is easy,” Anne says. “Much the same as I have been with you. Or a man may be with his wife. Only you do it,” Anne dips her gaze to her lap, “to yourself.”

Ann blushes a little at that, “Is it possible for women to pleasure themselves like that... fully?”

“Oh quite possible. If one knows what one likes.” Anne sits back and, holding her gaze very heated upon Ann’s, lets one hand drift down to her lap. She presses the heel of her hand against herself, and cannot help but take in a little breath. Across from her in the dim light, Ann draws breath as well. 

“One need only try one’s hand at it,” Anne say, her voice perhaps a little huskier than usual, “to learn quickly what pleases you and what does not.”

The rock of her palm against her skirts is good and, from their earlier excitements, Anne knows matters won’t take long. Leaning forward, keeping her eyes on Ann, Anne lifts her petticoats and puts her hand up her skirts, until she arrives at the slit of her drawers. There she pets and teases herself a little, quite damp and warm already from their embraces. She has let her skirts fall back down over her hand so she is not exposed but Ann’s gaze has dropped immediately to watch the quick movements beneath the cloth, and, despite the layers, Anne feels quite naked under the heat of it. 

As she had done with Ann, Anne runs a finger between the lips of her queer and begins to rub. She is less gentle with herself and feels a wetness come almost at once, and a trembling heat in her stomach and groin. She bends her wrist and presses two fingers inside, leaning back a little so she can get the angle right.

Then she looks up at Ann’s face and finds her watching dazedly, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth a little open.

“Lift your skirts,” she whispers. For a moment, Anne is sure she has misheard her, but Ann says it again, this time with urgency. “Lift your skirts. I want to see you.” 

Anne jumps to action, her fingers suddenly feeling thick and clumsy as she fumbles at her layers and lifts them about her hips. She is covered by just her drawers then, and soon after, when she sits a little wider, opening her legs, not even by her drawers. The slit in her underclothes runs from the waistband at her front to the waistband at her back, and once Anne has spread her legs, she knows Ann will be able to see the dark hair and pink flesh between her thighs.

Ann gives out a little moan, and her excitement runs like a wire straight to Anne, so that she thrums with both Ann’s desires and her own.

She returns her fingers to the place that is now bared, her fingertips sliding and probing a little, but mostly rubbing, rubbing with a firm insistent pressure that makes her knees tremble. 

“Is this how you do it?” Ann says, her voice high and breathless, her eyes not moving from the space between Anne’s legs, “when you’re alone?”

“Yes,” Anne says, “like this.” And she brings her other hand to join the first, angling it to press two fingers into her, the next words coming out on a shaky breath, “And like this.”

“And what do you think of?” Ann says.

“Of pretty girls,” Anne says. “Of you.”

And Ann’s eyes flick up at once then to meet Anne’s and that current jolts through them once more. 

Anne looks at Ann and thinks of Ann. Of Ann a quarter hour before, gasping above her, of Ann before the fire in the chaumière, smiling and telling Anne she is not frightened, of Ann, a few hours from hence, spread beneath Anne on bed-sheets in York. And the Ann before Anne now who, as if in imitation of her imaginings, has started to pant and wet her lip and can scarce tear her eyes away from Anne’s hands.

Anne works herself harder under Ann’s gaze, one hand thrusting, one rubbing. She is suddenly aware, in the closeness of the carriage, of the sounds she is making, the slick, wet slide of her fingers and her small moans and sighs. Ann has leant forward a little in her seat and it seems as though, as she draws breath, Anne exhales, and, as she exhales, Anne breathes in in turn, so that her breath is Ann’s breath, her excitement is Ann’s excitement, and Anne might almost believe her fingers are Ann’s, her flesh is Ann’s.

At that thought she is suddenly overcome, the pleasure that has built and built spills through her and she cries out. She is wracked with wave after wave of bliss, clenching and shaking around her own fingertips and, all the while, feeling Ann’s eyes upon her. 

Finally, with one last shake, she is sated and may still and catch her breath. She falls heavily back in her seat and settles her skirts in place, wiping her fingers on her petticoat.

She catches Ann’s eyes and gives a wicked smile.

“See,” she says. “It is easy.”

Ann laughs and Anne is about to follow suit when the groom raps sharply on the top of the carriage and they both start. Anne is sure for a moment that they have been overheard, but the man only shouts, “We’re coming into Leeds now, ma’am.” 

And sure enough the light outside the windows is waning orange, turning from moonlight to the amber of gas lamps, and the sound under the carriage wheels is that of cobbles rather than dirt track.

By the time they draw into the Coach Inn, where they are to change the horses, Ann and Anne are quite proper in their dress and appearance again, if perhaps a little flushed around the cheek and throat. As Anne steps smartly from the carriage and give Ann her hand, she checks her pocket watch again. It is not long past eight – they have made good time. And smiling to herself as they head into the Inn, Anne thinks on the further three hours they are to have to themselves in the carriage before they alight at York. Quite enough time, Anne marks, to continue the education of little Miss Walker.

\---


End file.
